


What Baking Can Do

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Baking, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Stress Baking, Team Bonding, title from Waitress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14425977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: A mystery baker is leaving the Wraiths treats. One night, Kell stumbles upon the unexpected explanation.





	What Baking Can Do

**Author's Note:**

> Little bro told me to write a Wraiths Great British Bake Off au. This isn't that, but it's where I got after a few logical leaps, so I'm blaming/thanking him for it anyway. <3

“The mystery baker strikes again,” Tyria says with delight as the Wraiths file in to be briefed on their latest training mission. Sure enough, Kell follows her gaze and sees a basket of Warra nut cookies set up at the front of the room.

Commander Antilles smiles indulgently. “Everyone grab a treat and be seated. And clean up after yourselves this time or I'm telling the janitorial droids where you sleep.”

There's a small flutter of excitement as the pilots each collect cookies and napkins before sitting down. It doesn't happen at every briefing, but this is far from the first time. Then there's the baked goods that show up regularly in the rec room. The surprise deserts that make themselves known in the mess. No one seems to know who's doing it, but it's always a pleasant surprise.

Janson likes to joke that someone out there has finally realized the good of fighter pilots and is rewarding them. Phanan and Face have taken to snickering among themselves that the Wraiths are getting early compensation for the squadron's inevitable failure.

Kell himself doesn't much care what the food's origin is. In this place, surrounded by these people and working as hard as he is, he's not going to say no to free sugar.

The cookies have long burned away by the time night rolls around, though. He lays unable to sleep, staring up at the ceiling of his quarters, mind turning over and over. Worrying he'll screw up this last chance and get cut from the squadron. Worrying said screw-up will lead to immediate retribution by Lieutenant Janson. Just generally worrying until his gut is a tangle of anxiety that forces him to his feet and out into the halls of Folor Base in some vain hope of walking it off – and not running into his father's murderer in a dark corner.

Kell doesn't even realize his stomach is growling until he finds himself stalking toward the small pilots' kitchen where those stationed on base can cook for themselves when the mess isn't serving or they want something specific. He rounds the corner to find the lights on and the room occupied – Myn Donos sitting at the little two-person table reading something on his datapad and his astromech perched nearby.

A second later, the smell hits him. It's the distinct scent of Alderaanian spice muffins, and Kell finds himself instantly transported back to his childhood, sitting at the kitchen table with his sisters bickering over who will get the biggest one as their mother brings over a steaming plate. All young and innocent and happy.

He shakes the memory away and turns his eyes to Donos. “It's you,” Kell says, realizing. “You're the mystery baker.”

Donos doesn't look surprised or abashed or anything other than his usual stoic self. He merely shrugs. “I don't sleep much. Have to do something to pass the time.”

That makes sense, in a way. “I heard what happened to your last squadron,” Kell says. “I can't imagine what that must be like.”

Donos's face does twitch then, but only for a second before the mask reasserts itself. He nods silently.

Kell could kick himself. Of course that wasn't the right thing to say. Awkwardly, he turns away, opening a cupboard and starting to rifle through it in search of the snack he came for.

“The muffins are nearly finished,” Donos tells him. “If you want to wait a few minutes, you can have one. They're best when they're warm out of the oven.”

“Sure.” Kell slowly closes the cupboard and turns. Donos has already gone back to whatever he's reading. Kell looks around for a moment, wishing he'd brought his own datapad along, something to use as a distraction. He hops up to sit on the counter, swings his legs back and a forth a few times. Suddenly decides he can't deal with the silence. “It's probably a good thing you haven't told anyone. You'd just be dealing with requests all the time.”

Donos glances over, the ghost of an expression on his face, almost like he knows something Kell doesn't.

And then Kell realizes. The ryshcate that had shown up on the Commander's life day. Mon Calamari Kismet biscuits in the rec room the morning after Jesmin mentioned being homesick. Kell's own favorite treat, air cake with stewfruit, after dinner when he'd had a particularly bad day.

“Oh,” Kell says.

He's infinitely grateful to the galaxy at large when the oven timer goes off at just that moment. Donos puts down his datapad and goes to retrieve the muffins. He slides on a pair of oven mitts, and the second the oven door opens, the scent becomes even more pungent. Kell's mouth starts watering. Donos deposits the pan on the transparisteel stovetop and fans the contents with his mitts for a few moments before plucking one perfect muffin from it's place, putting it on a flimsiplast plate, and holding it out to Kell.

Kell hops down from the counter and takes it. “Thanks.” He bites into it immediately, yelping and dropping it back to the plate as the hot baked good scalds his tongue.

One corner of Donos's mouth crooks marginally – the closest to a smile Kell has ever seen from him. “Careful, they're still hot.”

“I noticed,” Kell deadpans. He blows on the muffin and picks it up again for a more cautious bite. “Delicious, though,” he mumbles before he's even bothered to swallow.

Donos inclines his head slightly and turns away to begin loading the rest into a container.

“It's nice of you, you know,” Kell says as he continues to eat. “Sharing with everyone. We all appreciate it.”

Donos shrugs. “Might as well put myself to use somehow.” He snaps a lid onto the container.

Kell thinks to argue that he's useful to the squadron elsewhere as well, but instead finds himself saying, “I'll deliver that for you. Where's it going?”

Donos eyes him for a long moment. “The mess. For breakfast.”

“Great.” Kell tosses his empty plate in the trash and takes the container from him. “It's on my way back to my room anyway. And I won't tell anyone.” Donos blinks at him. Kell assumes he's gone quiet again, heads for the door.

Just as he leaves the room he hears Donos murmur after him. “Thank you, Kell.”


End file.
